In Repair
by Madpadz
Summary: No more pain. He liked the sound of that. James/Lily, one-shot, rated T for a reason.


**Disclaimer: **J.K. Rowling owns everything. Including my soul.  
**Warning: **This story has some pretty nasty language here and there. Also, there's a situtation of suggested thoughts of suicide. Don't like? Don't read.

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"_And for the moment, you can hardly breathe.  
Wondering, was she really here? Is she standing in my room?  
No, she's not, 'cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone."_  
**-Dreaming With a Broken Heart **by **John Mayer**

Standing beneath the shower head, James Potter let the water run through his hair and down his face. The scalding water beat down on his skin, slowly turning it red; he barely took notice as he stepped out, putting on his glasses and wrapping a towel loosely around his waist. Pointedly not looking in the mirror as he passed it, he walked out of the door and into the hallway of his flat. Dragging his feet along the wooden floor, he pushed on his bedroom so hard that it smacked loudly into the wall. He let the towel drop and pulled out clothes haphazardly from the closet. He barely looked at what he had taken out; what did it matter, anyway?

He walked over to the bed, and threw himself down on it. As he stared up at the ceiling, he felt his eyes beginning to burn as they regarded the tiny little letter on the bedside table that had caused so much pain with the words it contained. He had received it that morning; it was short, to the point, and completely emotionless. The Ministry of Magic had an impeccable ability to seem that way, as though they were informing him that they had found a missing pair of socks and not that both of his parents had just been murdered in the line of duty.

He supposed he should have seen it coming; his parents were getting older and were very close to retirement. With all the violence surrounding Lord Voldemort's rising power, slowing reflexes couldn't be accounted for; you had to be fast, otherwise you were taken out. He knew this better than most, being a part of the auror training program himself. A wave of anger washed over him, and he swiftly got up from the bed and tore the little letter into pieces. His vision blurred from the tears that threatened to spill over as he pointed his wand at the torn paper and lit the pieces on fire.

"Fuck," he said quietly, his voice hoarse from lack of use combined with the lump in his throat. He ran his hands roughly through his hair before turning and looking at the now disheveled bed. It was eerily empty, almost making him shiver; usually Lily was there with him, smiling up at him as he said something that made her eyes light up. That thought truly made his chest hurt; the feeling was constricting, and he nearly fell to his knees with the weight. Feeling sick, he tried to fight down the nausea as the memory from that very morning came rushing back.

_He had just received the letter; he had read through it several times before the words actually registered in his brain._

_Just like that._

_With a few words, he was the only Potter left. _

_He had heard of the five steps of mourning before: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. It didn't take him long to realize that it was all bullshit; he skipped right over denial and straight into mind-numbing anger. His hands were still shaking when Lily walked in through the door, her face lit up with a brilliant smile that normally would have James' heart melting at the sight; today, he didn't even turn to look at her._

"_Hey, James," she said, walking up behind him and snaking her arms around his waist. Leaning onto him, she stood on her tip-toes to bring herself to the height of his cheek, placing a kiss there. He didn't respond; he stood still, glaring at nothing. He felt her loving hold on him loosen, and she looked concernedly at him._

"_What's wrong?" she asked quietly. He could pick out the fear in her voice with ease; these days, if there was bad news, someone you knew was gone. How breathtakingly true it was. "James, talk to me. Please."_

_Her soft tone only enraged him further, and he moved away from her. _

"_James."_

"_Would you just leave me alone?" he snapped, and she looked taken aback. He would have felt sorry if he could see past the blinding rage in his brain. He could see a similar emotion rising in her eyes, and he felt like grinning; his body was begging for a fight. A way to direct this anger at _something_._

"_What's wrong with you?" she asked, fury lining her tone. He turned his head slightly to look at her; several strands of flaming hair had fallen from their place in her ponytail, and her emerald eyes were alight with emotion. She had always looked beautiful when she was angry._

"_What's wrong with me?" he asked, obviously mocking her tone. "Right now, it's that _you _won't leave me the _fuck_ alone. Or can I not have two seconds for myself? It has to be all about Lily, doesn't it?" Her expression hardened._

"_Oh, that's rich, Potter," she spat. "This isn't about me. This whole situation is about you. I'm sorry if I'm concerned about you. But no, the great James Potter needs his space. So find some fucking space, James. Don't sit there demanding it like the little spoiled brat you are."_

_To be honest, he was a little surprised; he hadn't expected retaliation so quickly, and her words hurt. They both said things that weren't true when they were mad; constantly trying to put a chip in the others' armor. He turned on her quickly, making himself look more furious at her than he truly was. In the process, he knocked a glass tumbler off of the counter and onto the floor._

"_Gonna pick that up, baby?" she said mockingly. In his mind's eye, he could see Death Eaters using the same tone as they shot down his parents. Without thinking, he kicked the glass in Lily's direction and she jumped out of the way. The glass narrowly missed her, shattering onto the wall behind her. Her eyes, filled with tears, gazed at him from her place across the room. Her mouth was open, but no sound came out. They just stared at each other, before a few minutes later she regained her stance._

"_Fuck off, Potter," she said quietly, tears rolling down her cheeks as she stormed out, slamming the door behind her. _

James couldn't stop the tears now, the memory adding so much pain onto the already existing feelings. Stalking over to the bed, he ripped the comforter off and threw it across the room, knocking over a lamp. He tore off the sheets next, and then moved on to the pillows; he stomped on them, as if to cause them as much pain as he was feeling. Kicking over the bedside table in rage, he walked back into the hallway and returned to the bathroom. He looked at his own reflection; the reflection he had so pointedly ignored only minutes earlier. His eyes were rimmed red behind the black frames, and he growled.

_You're weak, Potter, _something hissed vindictively inside of him. _It's no wonder your parents are dead. You surely couldn't have protected them._

He punched the mirror wildly, and the reflection shattered. Pain shot up his arm, matching the feeling in his chest. His knuckles throbbed as he felt warm liquid begin to seep from the cuts that adorned them.

The pain was numbing. All of it.

Mentally, physically, emotionally—

He opened the cabinet behind the now destroyed mirror, and searched for the little bottle he was looking for. Another memory assaulted his thoughts as he knocked over everything, frantically searching.

"_They're much better than potions for pain, I find," Lily told him, blushing lightly as he watched her bend over to take the bottle out of one of the shopping bags._

"_You might be needing those tonight," he said lowly, grabbing her waist from behind and nipping at her neck. She giggled, and he felt goosebumps rise on her arms._

"_Whatever for?" she asked innocently, the pills shaking around in the bottle as her hand moved to wrap around one of his own. He only buried his face deeper into her hair. She danced out of his grip and he followed her, watching as she placed the tiny bottle in the cabinet on the wall. As he carried her into the bedroom, she spoke one last phrase to him._

"_You can't take too many, though," she said. "It'll come back and bite you in the ass. And when I say that, I mean it could kill you." He laughed._

His eyes landed on the small, white bottle. Wrapping his fingers around it, he leaned back on the wall and slid to the floor. Taking off the top with the hand that wasn't bloody, he poured all of the pills onto the floor in front of him. He grabbed a handful and stared at them. No more pain.

He liked the sound of that.

He jumped when he heard the door fly open. Lily came running in, tears streaming down her face. She let out a sob when she saw the wreckage around him; the mirror shards, the blood, the pills. Her gaze fell to his palm, and his own followed it. He looked back up to her face and saw more tears slip from her eyes.

"You weren't seriously going to…?" she asked quietly, and he only stared at her. Lily fell to her knees, wrapping her arms around his torso. The pain in his chest seemed to ease a little, and he let the pills fall to the floor. He returned her embrace, letting his own tears fall. He couldn't help but choke out a sob, and he buried his face into her neck. He felt her shaking with him, and it made him cry harder.

After several minutes of sobs and sighs that were nearly worse than screaming, they both just sat and held the other. She pulled back slightly, and looked into his eyes. He brought his uninjured hand to her cheek, stroking her creamy skin softly. Her own eyes asked the question that she didn't need to. _Are you okay?_

"I'm not together," he whispered, smiling weakly. "But I'm getting there."

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**A/N: **Soooo much angst! For any of you guys reading my other story, sorry I haven't posted since like, March or something. I'll get around to it. The last line is actually taken from another one of John Mayer's songs called, **In Repair**, which is what the story is named after. Thanks for reading!  
P.S. Do you guys think I should change the rating to M? I wasn't sure.


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